


Situational Awareness

by ricochet



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochet/pseuds/ricochet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cougar is on watch. Jensen isn't paying attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situational Awareness

Jensen’d been talking for six hours. Pooch, Clay, and Aisha left when he started promising ever more obscene acts to the bank's firewall if it would just open up.

Cougar let the rise and fall of Jensen’s voice sink to the back of his awareness as he kept watch out the window. He’d stopped listening to the words two hours ago. The edges of them had started to roughen, Jensen’s throat showing the wear of constant use and too many viciously coloured energy drinks. Cougar tested the edge of his knife against his thumb and slid it into his boot sheath, satisfied.

“Awesome,” Jensen’s voice snapped.

Cougar glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

Without taking his eyes off the screen in front of him, Jensen continued. “If you're done with your nails on a chalkboard routine, go do something useful and get me food. I’m out of Dew, and you’re driving me insane.”

Frustration showed in the sharp impacts of Jensen’s fingers on the keys and the awkward angle of his shoulders. Cougar could tell he had a tension headache as well by the way he squinted at the screen. “No.”

Now Jensen looked up. The quick motion causing a twitch in his left arm, and Cougar added muscle cramp to the list. “The hell do you even mean 'No'? You're not any help here. You can't tell a jump drive from a smartphone, and I need to eat.”

A glance around the room showed Cougar a case worth each of empty RedBull and Mountain Dew cans. He flicked his eyes over Jensen’s right hand, where he was pressing his fingers against the desktop hard enough to turn the tips white. “My watch.” Cougar turned back to the window.

In the glass, Jensen’s reflection shifted as he pulled himself out of his chair with a snarl. “Fuck's sake, nobody knows where we are, and there’s no sightlines into this place from anywhere but a helicopter.” Jensen was pacing an uneven circuit between the desk, the weapons cases, and the window Cougar sat by. His steps hit the floor like he wanted to provoke it into hitting him back. “Go get me a burger. Or a hotdog. Or fucking anything with protein.”

Cougar set his rifle down carefully on the windowsill and turned in his chair to face the room and his furiously restless teammate. “No one left on their own,” he said, watching the rough way Jensen shoved a hand through his hair, scraping his nails over his scalp and yanking at it. Cougar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as Jensen stormed into another circuit; cases, desk, and then toward the window at Cougar’s back. “That’s the rule.”

“Jesus fuck, Cougar.” Another yank on his own hair and Jensen was throwing his arms dramatically over his head. He stomped back toward Cougar, spitting words around the clench of his jaw. “What’s it gonna take? Huh? You want me to beg?”

Cougar’s hand locked around the nearest out-flung wrist as the instep of his boot caught Jensen’s bare ankles, hooking his feet neatly out from under him. Jensen went down with a squawk of alarm, and Cougar twisted his arm back and up until Jensen's hand was shoved against his spine between his shoulder blades. His other hand snaked out as Jensen fell, catching hold of his face and holding on, his knuckle pressed hard into the softness under his chin, just behind his jaw, and his thumb on Jensen’s lower lip.

Jensen made an outraged sound in the back of his mouth and flailed his free hand at Cougar's face.

Cougar moved his head easily out of the way and pulled up harder on Jensen’s other wrist, holding him where he’d landed: on his knees at Cougar’s feet.

Behind his glasses Jensen’s eyes were wide and wild. Cougar could see his pulse in the line of his throat, rapid and obvious.

He shifted his foot, sliding his heel into the minimal space between Jensen’s knees, and turned it in place, slowly but inevitably forcing Jensen’s legs open. It made Jensen’s breathing stutter in his throat, his chest stretching the thin fabric of his t-shirt further with each rapid breath.

Leaning over him a little more, intent on keeping eye contact and refusing to let Jensen retreat, Cougar smiled, and answered him. “Yes.”


End file.
